The Singing Master
The Singing-School.
"Conceit's an excellent great-coat, and sticks
Close to the wearer for his mortal life;
It has no spot nor wrinkle in his eyes,
And quite cuts out the coats of other men."
S.M.
"He had a fiddle sadly out of tune,
A voice as husky as a raven croaking,
Or owlet hooting to the clouded moon,
Or bloated bull-frog in some mud-hole choking."
During my professional journies through the country, I have often had
the curiosity to visit the singing-schools in the small towns and
villages through which I passed. These are often taught by persons who
are perfectly ignorant of the common rules of music--men who have
followed the plough all their lives, and know about as much of the
divine science they pretend to teach as one of their oxen.
I have often been amused at their manner of explaining the principles of
their art to their pupils, who profit so little by their instructions,
that they are as wise at the end of their quarter as when they began.
The master usually endeavours to impress upon them the importance of
making themselves heard, and calls him the smartest fellow who is able
to make the most noise. The constant vibration they keep up through
their noses gives you the idea that their teacher has been in the habit
of raising sheep, and had caught many of their peculiar notes. This
style he very kindly imparts to his pupils; and as apt scholars
generally try to imitate their master, choirs taught by these
individuals resemble a flock of sheep going bahing one after another
over a wall.
I will give you a specimen of one of these schools, that I happened to
visit during my stay in the town of W---, in the western states. I do
not mean to say that all music masters are like the one I am about to
describe, but he bears a very close resemblance to a great many of the
same calling, who practise their profession in remote settlements, where
they are not likely to find many to criticise their performance.
I had advertised a concert for the 2nd of January, 1848, to be given in
the town of W---. I arrived on the day appointed, and fortunately made
the acquaintance of several gentlemen amateurs, who happened to be
boarding at the hotel to which I had been recommended. They kindly
manifested a lively interest in my success, and promised to do all in
their power to procure me a good house.
While seated at dinner, one of my new friends received a note, which he
said came from a singing master residing in a small village a few miles
back of W---. After reading the epistle, and laughing heartily over its
contents, he gave it to me. To my great astonishment it ran as follows:--
"My Dear Roberts,
"How do you do? I hope you will excuse me for troubling you on this
occasion; but I want to ax you a partic'lar question. Is you acquainted
with the man who is a-goin' to give a sing in your town to-night? If you
be, jist say to him, from me, that if he will come over here, we will
get him up a house. If he will--or won't cum--please let me know. I am
teaching a singing-school over here, and I can do a great deal for him,
if he will only cum.
"Yours, most respectfully,
"John Browne."
"You had better go, Mr. H---," said Roberts. "This John Browne is a
queer chap, and I promise you lots of fun. If you decide upon going we
will all accompany you, and help to fill your house."
"By all means," said I. "You will do me a great favour to return an
answer to the professional gentleman to that effect. I will send him
some of my programmes, and if he can get a tolerable piano, I will go
over and give them a concert next Saturday evening."
The note and the bills of performance were duly despatched to ---, and
the next morning we received an answer from the singing master to say
that all was right, and that Mr. Browne would be happy to give Mr. H---
his valuable assistance; but, if possible, he wished that I could come
out on Friday, instead of Saturday, as his school met on that evening at
six o'clock, and he would like me to witness the performance of his
scholars, which would only last from five in the evening till six, and
consequently need not interfere at all with my concert, which was to
commence at eight.
We ordered a conveyance immediately, and as it was the very day
signified in the note, we started off for the village of ---. On our
arrival we were met at the door of the only hotel in the place, by the
man a "_leetle_ in my line."
"Is this you, Mr. Thing-a-my. I can't for the life of me think of your
name. But no matter. Ain't you the chap as is a-goin' to give us the
con-sort this evening?"
I answered in the affirmative, and he continued--
"What a leetle fellow you be. Now I stand six feet four inches in my
boots, and my voice is high in proportion. But I s'pose you can sing.
Small fellows allers make a great noise. A bantam roaster allers crows
as loud as an game crower, to make folks believe that the dung-hill is
his'n."
I was very much amused at his comparing me to a bantam cock, and felt
almost inclined to clap my wings and crow.
"I have sent all your bills about town," continued the odd man, "and
invited all the tip-tops to cum and hear you. I have engaged a good
room, and a forty pound pee-a-ne. I s'pose it's worth as much, for 'tis
a terrible smart one. It belongs to Deacon S---; and his two daughters
are the prettiest galls hereabouts. They play 'Old Dan Tucker,' and all
manner of tunes. I found it deuced hard to get the old woman's consent;
but I knew she wouldn't refuse me, as she is looking out to cotch me for
one of the daughters. She made many objections--said that she would
rather the cheese-press and the cook-stove, and all the rest of the
furniture went out of the house than the pee-a-ne, as she afear'd that
the strings would break, and all the keys spill out by the way. The
strings are rusty, and keys loose enough already. I told the old missus
that I would take good care that the right side was kept uppermost; and
that if any harm happened to the instrument, you could set it all right
agin."
"I am sorry," said I, "to hear such a poor account of the instrument. It
is impossible to sing well to a bad piano--"
"Phoo, phoo, man! there's nobody here that ever he'rd a better. Bad or
good, it's the only one in the village. I play on this pee-a-ne a
_leetle_ myself, and that _ought_ to be some encouragement to you. I am
goin' to do a considerable business in the singing line here. I have
stirred up all the _leetle_ girls and boys in the place, and set them
whistling an' playing on the Jew's harp. Then I goes to the old 'uns,
and says to them, what genuses for music these young 'uns be! it is your
duty to improve a talent that providence has bestowed on your children.
I puts on a long face, like a parson, when I talks of providence and the
like o'that, and you don't know how amazingly it takes with the old
folks. They think that providence is allers on the look out to do them
some good turn.
"'What do you charge, Mr. Browne?' says they, instanter.
"Oh, a mere trifle, say I, instanter. Jist half-a-dollar a quarter--part
in cash, part in _produce_.
"''Tis cheap,' says they agin.
"Tew little, says I, by half.
"'Well, the children shall go,' says the old man. 'Missus, you see to
it.'
"The children like to hear themselves called genuses, and they go into
it like smoke. When I am tuning my voice at my lodgings in the evening,
just by way of recreation, the _leetle_ boys all gets round my winder to
listen to my singing. They are so fond of it I can't get them away. They
make such a confounded noise, in trying to imitate my splendid style.
But I'll leave you to judge of that for yourself. 'Spose you'll be up
with me to the singing-school, and then you will hear what I can do."
"I shall be most happy to attend you."
"You see, Mr. Thing-a-my, this is my first lesson, and you must make all
allowances, if there should be any trouble, or that all should not go
right. You see one seldom gets the hang of it the first night, no how.
I have been farming most of my life, but I quits that about five weeks
ago, and have been studying hard for my profession ever since. I have
got a large school here, another at A--- and another at L---; and
before the winter is over, I shall be qualified to teach at W---. I
play the big bass fiddle and the violin right off, and--"
Here a little boy came running up to say that his father's sheep had got
out of the yard, and had gone down to Deacon S---; and, said he, "The
folks have sent for you, Mister Browne, to cum and turn 'em out."
"A merciful intervention of providence," thought I, who was already
heartily weary of my new acquaintance, and began to be afraid that I
never should get rid of him. To tell the truth, I was so tired of
looking up at him, that I felt that I could not converse much longer
with him without endangering the elasticity of my neck, and he would
have been affronted if I had asked him to walk in and sit down.
He was not very well pleased with Deacon S---'s message.
"That comes of borrowing, mister. If I had not asked the loan of the
pee-a-ne, they never would have sent for me to look arter their darned
sheep. I must go, however. I hope you'll be able to keep yourself alive
in my absence. I have got to string up the old fiddle for to-night. The
singing-school is about a mile from this. I will come down with my old
mare arter you, when its just time to be a-goin'. So good-bye."
Away he strode at the rate of six miles an hour; his long legs
accomplishing at one step what would have taken a man of my dimensions
three to compass. I then went into the hotel to order dinner for my
friends, as he had allowed me no opportunity to do so. The conceited
fellow had kept me standing a foot deep in snow for the last hour, while
listening to his intolerably dull conversation. My disgust and
disappointment afforded great amusement to my friends; but in spite of
all my entreaties, they could not be induced to leave their punch and a
warm fire to accompany me in my pilgrimage to the singing-school.
We took dinner at four o'clock, and the cloth was scarcely drawn, when
my musical friend made his appearance with the old mare, to take me
along to the school.
Our turn-out was everything but prepossessing. A large unwieldy cutter
of home manufacture, the boards of which it was composed unplained and
unpainted, with rope harness, and an undressed bull's hide by way of
buffalo's, formed our equipage. But no description that I could give you
would do justice to the old mare. A sorry beast she was--thick legged,
rough coated, and of a dirty yellow-white. Her eyes, over one of which a
film was spread, were dull as the eyes of a stale fish, and her temples
so hollow, that she looked as if she had been worn out by dragging the
last two generations to their graves. I was ashamed of adding one more
to the many burdens she must have borne in her day, and I almost wished
that she had realized in her own person the well-known verse in the
Scotch song--
"The auld man's mare's dead,
A mile ayont Dundee,"
before I ever had set my eyes upon her.
"Can she carry us?" said I, pausing irresolutely, with my foot on the
rough heavy runner of the cutter.
"I guess she can," quoth he. "She will skim like a bird over the snow;
so get into the sleigh, and we will go straight off to the
singing-school."
It was intensely cold. I drew the collar of my great-coat over my ears,
and wrapped my half of the bull's hide well round my feet, and we
started. The old mare went better than could have been expected from
such a skeleton of a beast. To be sure, she had no weight of flesh to
encumber her motions, and we were getting on pretty well, when the music
master drove too near a stump, which suddenly upset us both, and tumbled
him head foremost into a bank of snow. I fortunately rolled out a-top of
him, and soon extricated myself from the difficulty; but I found it no
easy matter to drag my ponderous companion from beneath the snow, and
the old bull's hide in which he was completely enveloped.
The old mare stood perfectly still, gazing with her one eye intently on
the mischief she had done, as if she never had been guilty of such a
breach of manners before. After shaking the snow from our garments,
and getting all right for a second start, my companion exclaimed in an
agonized tone--
"My fiddle! Where, where is my fiddle? I can do nothing without my
fiddle."
We immediately went in search of it; but we did not succeed in finding
it for some time. I had given it up in despair, and, half-frozen with
cold, was stepping into the cutter to take the benefit of the old bull's
hide, when, fortunately for the music master one of the strings of the
lost instrument snapped with the cold. We followed the direction of the
sound, and soon beheld the poor fiddle sticking in a snow-bank, and
concealed by a projecting stump. The instrument had sustained no other
injury than the loss of three of the strings.
"Well, arn't that too bad?" says he. "I have no more catgut without
sending to W---. That's done for, at least for to-night."
"It's very cold," I cried, impatiently, seeing that he was in no hurry
to move on. "Do let us be going. You can examine your instrument better
in the house than standing up to your knees in the snow."
"I was born in the Backwoods," say he; "I don't feel the cold." Then
jumping into the cutter, he gave me the fiddle to take care of, and
pointing with the right finger of his catskin gloves to a solitary house
on the top of a bleak hill, nearly a mile a-head, he said, "That white
building is the place where the school is held."
We soon reached the spot. "This is the old Methodist church, mister, and
a capital place for the voice. There is no furniture or hangings to
interrupt the sound. Go right in, while I hitch the mare; I will be
arter you in a brace of shakes."
I soon found myself in the body of the old dilapidated church, and
subjected to the stare of a number of very unmusical-looking girls and
boys, who, certainly from their appearance, would never have led you to
suppose that they ever could belong to a Philharmonic society.
Presently, Mr. Browne made his debut.
Assuming an air of great importance as he approached his pupils, he
said--"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to your notice Mr.
H---, the celebrated vocalist. He has cum all the way from New York on
purpose to hear you sing."
The boys grinned at me and twirled their thumbs, the girls nudged one
another's elbows and giggled, while their eloquent teacher continued--
"I don't know as how we shall be able to do much tonight; we upset, and
that spilt my fiddle into the snow. You see,"--holding it up--"it's
right full of it, and that busted the strings. A dropsical fiddle is no
good, no how. Jist look at the water dripping out of her."
Again the boys laughed, and the girls giggled. Said he--
"Hold on, don't laugh; it's no laughing matter, as you'll find."
After a long pause, in which the youngsters tried their best to look
grave, he went on--
"Now all of you, girls and boys, give your attention to my instructions
this evening. I'm goin' to introduce a new style, for your special
benefit, called the Pest-a-lazy (Pestalozzi) system, now all the
fashion. If you are all ready, produce your books. Hold them up.
One--two--three! Three books for forty pupils? That will never do! We
can't sing to-night; well, never mind. You see that black board; I will
give you a lesson to-night upon that. Who's got a piece of chalk?"
A negative shake of the head from all. To me: "Chalk's scarce in these
diggings." To the boys: "What, nobody got a piece of chalk? That's
unlucky; a piece of charcoal out of the stove will do as well."
"No 'ar won't," roared out a boy with a very ragged coat. "They be both
the same colour."
"True, Jenkins, for you; go out and get a lump of snow. Its darnation
strange if I can't fix it somehow."
"Now," thought I, "what is this clever fellow going to do?"
The boys winked at each other, and a murmur of suppressed laughter ran
through the old church. Jenkins ran out, and soon returned with a lump
of snow.
Mr. Browne took a small piece, and squeezing it tight, stuck it upon the
board. "Now, boys, that is Do, and that is Re, and that is Do again, and
that is Mi, this Do, and that Fa; and that, boys, is a part of what we
call a _scale_." Then turning to a tall, thin, shabby-looking man,
very much out at the elbows, whom I had not seen before, he said--"Mr.
Smith, how is your _base viol?_ Hav'nt you got it tuned up yet?"
Well, squire, I guess it's complete."
"Hold on; let me see," and taking a tuning-fork from his pocket, and
giving it a sharp thump upon the stove, he cried out in a still louder
key--"Now, that's A; jist tune up to A."
After Mr. Smith had succeeded in tuning his instrument, the teacher
proceeded with his lucid explanations:--"Now, boys, start fair; give a
grand chord. What sort of a noise do you call that? (giving a luckless
boy a thump over the head with his fiddle-stick). You bray through your
nose like a jackass. I tell you to quit; I don't want discord." The boy
slunk out of the class, and stood blubbering behind the door.
"Tune up again, young shavers! Sing the notes as I have made them on
the board,--Do, re-do, mi, do-fa. Now, when I count four commence.
One--two--three--four. Sing! Hold on!--hold on! Don't you see that all
the notes are running off, and you can't sing running notes yet."
Here he was interrupted by the noise of some one forcing their way
into the church, in a very strange and unceremonious manner, and
"The chorister's song, that late was so strong,
Grew a quaver of consternation."
The door burst open, and a ghastly head was protruded through the
aperture. "A ghost!--a ghost!" shrieked out all the children in a
breath; and jumping over the forms, they huddled around the stove,
upsetting the solitary tallow candle, the desk, and the bass viol,
in their flight. One lad sprang right upon the unfortunate instrument,
which broke to pieces with a terrible crash. We were now left in the
dark. The girls screamed, and clung round me for protection, while
the ghastly apparition continued to stare upon us through the gloom,
with its large, hollow eyes, I must confess that I felt rather queer;
but I wisely kept my fears to myself, while I got as far from the door
as I possibly could. Just as our terror had reached a climax, the
grizzly phantom uttered a low, whining neigh.
"It's the old mare! I'll be darned if it isn't!" cried one of the
older boys, at the top of his voice. This restored confidence to the
rest; and one rather bolder than his comrades at length ventured to
relight the fallen candle at the stove, and holding it up, displayed to
our view the old white mare, standing in the doorway. The poor beast had
forced her way into the porch to protect herself from the cold; and she
looked at her master, as much as to say, "I have a standing account
against you." No doubt her sudden intrusion had been the means of
shortening her term of probation by at least half an hour, and of
bringing the singing-school to a close. She had been the innocent cause
of disabling both the musical instruments, and Mr. Browne could not
raise a correct note without them. Turning to his pupils, with a very
rueful countenance, and speaking in a very unmusical voice, but very
expressive withal, he said--"Chore (meaning choir), you are dimissed.
But, hold on!--don't be in such a darnation hurry to be off. I was
a-going to tell you, this ere gentleman, Mr. H--- (my name, for a
wonder, poppping into his head at that minute) is to give a _con-sort_
to-morrow night. It was to have been to-night; but he changed his mind
that he might have the pleasure of hearing you. I shall assist Mr. H---
in the singing department; so you must all be sure to cum. Tickets for
boys over ten years, twenty-five cents; under ten, twelve and a half
cents. So you _leetle_ chaps will know what to do. The next time the
school meets will be when the fiddles are fixed. Now scamper." The
children were not long in obeying the order. In the twinkling of an eye
they were off, and we heard them shouting and sky-larking in the lane.
"Cum, Mr. H---," said the music-master, buttoning his great-coat up to
his chin, "let us be a-goin'."
On reaching the spot where we had left the cutter, to our great
disappointment, we found only one-half of it remaining; the other half,
broken to pieces, strewed the ground. Mr. Browne detained me for another
half-hour, in gathering together the fragments. "Now you, Mr. Smith, you
take care of the crippled fiddles, while I take care of the bag of oats.
The old mare has been trying to hook them out of the cutter, which has
been the cause of all the trouble. You, Mr. H---, mount up on the old
jade, and take along the bull's hide, and we will follow on foot."
"Yes," said I, "and glad of the chance, for I am cold and tired."
Not knowing a step of the way, I let Mr. Browne and his companion go
a-head; and making a sort of pack-saddle of the old hide, I curled
myself up on the back of the old mare, and left her to her own pace,
which, however, was a pretty round trot, until we reached the outskirts
of the town, where, dismounting, I thanked my companions, very
insincerely I'm afraid, for my evening's amusement, and joined my
friends at the hotel, who were never tired of hearing me recount my
adventures at the singing-school.
I had been obliged to postpone my own concert until the next evening,
for I found the borrowed piano such a poor one, and so miserably out of
tune, that it took me several hours rendering it at all fit for service.
Before I had concluded my task, I was favoured with the company of Mr.
Browne, who stuck to me closer than a brother, never allowing me out of
his sight for a moment. This persevering attention, so little in unison
with my feelings, caused me the most insufferable annoyance. A thousand
times I was on the point of dismissing him very unceremoniously, by
informing him that I thought him a most conceited, impertinent puppy;
but for the sake of my friend Roberts, who was in some way related to
the fellow, I contrived to master my anger. About four o'clock he jumped
up from the table, at which he had been lounging and sipping hot punch
at my expense for the last hour, exclaiming--
"I guess it's time for me to see the pee-a-ne carried up to the con-sort
room."
"It's all ready," said I. "Perhaps, Mr. Browne, you will oblige me by
singing a song before the company arrives, that I may judge how far your
style and mine will agree;" for I began to have some horrible misgivings
on the subject. "If you will step upstairs, I will accompany you on the
piano. I had no opportunity of hearing you sing last night."
"No, no," said he, with a conceited laugh; "I mean to astonish you by
and by. I'm not one of your common amateurs, no how. I shall produce
quite a sensation upon your audience."
So saying, he darted through the door, and left me to finish my
arrangements for the night.
The hour appointed for the concert at length arrived. It was a clear,
frosty night, the moon shining as bright as day. A great number of
persons were collected about the doors of the hotel, and I had every
reason to expect a full house. I was giving some directions to my
door-keeper, when I heard a double sleigh approaching at an uncommon
rate; and looking up the road, I saw an old-fashioned, high-backed
vehicle, drawn by two shabby-looking horses, coming towards the hotel at
full gallop. The passengers evidently thought that they were too late,
and were making up for lost time.
The driver was an old farmer, and dressed in the cloth of the country,
with a large capote of the same material drawn over his head and
weather-beaten face, which left his sharp black eyes, red nose, and wide
mouth alone visible. He flourished in his hand a large whip of raw hide,
which ever and anon descended upon the backs of his rawboned cattle like
the strokes of a flail.
"Get up--go along--waye," cried he, suddenly drawing up at the door
of the hotel. "Well, here we be at last, and jist in time for the
con-sort." Then hitching the horses to the post, and flinging the
buffalo robes over them, he left the three females he was driving in
the sleigh, and ran directly up to me,--"Arn't you the con-sort man?
I guess you be, by them ere black pants and Sunday-goin' gear."
I nodded assent.
"What's the damage?"
"Half a dollar."
"Half a dollar? You don't mean to say that!"
"Not a cent less."
"Well, it will be _expensive_. There's my wife and two darters, and
myself; and the galls never seed a con-sort."
"Well," said I, "as there are four of you, you may come in at a dollar
and a half."
"How; a dollar and a harf! I will go and have a talk with the old woman,
and hear what she says to it."
He returned to the sleigh, and after chatting for a few minutes with the
women, he helped them out, and the four followed me into the common
reception room of the inn. The farmer placed a pail of butter on the
table, and said with a shrewd curl of his long nose, and a wink from one
of his cunning black eyes, "There's some pretty good butter, mister."
I was amused at the idea, and replied, "Pretty good butter! What is that
to me? I do not buy butter."
"Not buy butter! Why you don't say! It is the very best article in the
market jist now."
For a bit of fun I said,--"Never mind; I will take your butter. What
is it worth?"
"It was worth ten cents last week, mister; I don't know what it's worth
now. It can't have fallen, no-how."
I took my knife from my pocket, and in a very business-like manner
proceeded to taste the article. "Why," said I, "this butter is not
good."
Here a sharp-faced woman stepped briskly up, and poking her head between
us, said, at the highest pitch of her cracked voice,--"Yes, it is good;
it was made this morning _express-ly_ for the _con-sort_."
"I beg your pardon, madam. I am not in the habit of buying butter. To
oblige you, I will take this. How much is there of it?"
"I don't know. Where are your steelyards?"
"Oh," said I, laughing, "I don't carry such things with me. I will take
it at your own valuation, and you may go in with your family."
"'Tis a bargain," says she. "Go in, galls, and fix yourselves for the
_con-sort_."
As the room was fast filling, I thought it time to present myself to the
company, and made my entrance, accompanied by that incorrigible pest,
the singing master, who, without the least embarrassment, took his seat
by the piano. After singing several of my best songs, I invited him to
try his skill.
"Oh, certainly," said he; "to tell you the truth, I am a _leetle_
su rprised that you did not ask me to lead off."
"I would have done so; but I could not alter the arrangement of the
programme."
"Ah, well, I excuse you this time, but it was not very polite, to say
the least of it." Then, taking my seat at the piano with as much
confidence as Braham ever had, he run his hand over the keys, exclaiming
"What shall I sing? I will give you one of Russell's songs; they suit my
voice best. Ladies and gentlemen, I am going to favour you by singing
Henry Russell's celebrated song, 'I love to roam,' and accompany myself
upon the pee-a-ne-forty."
This song is so well known to most of my readers, that I can describe
his manner of singing it without repeating the whole of the words. He
struck the instrument in playing with such violence that it shook his
whole body, and produced the following ludicrous effect:
"Some love to ro-o-o-a-me
O'er the dark sea fo-o-ome,
Where the shrill winds whistle fre-e-e;
But a cho-o-sen ba-a-and in a mountain la-a-a-and,
And life in the woo-o-ds for me-e-e."
This performance was drowned in an uproar of laughter, which brought our
vocalist to a sudden stop.
"I won't sing another line if you keep up that infernal noise," he
roared at the top of his voice. "When a fellow does his best, he expects
his audience to appreciate his performance; but I allers he'rd as how
the folks at W--- knew nothing about music."
"Oh, do stop," exclaimed an old woman, rising from her seat, and shaking
her fist at the unruly company,--"can't yee's; he do sing _butiful_; and
his voice in the winds do sound so _natural_, I could almost hear them an
'owling. It minds me of old times, it dew."
This voluntary tribute to his genius seemed to console and reassure the
singing master, and, stemming with his stentorian voice the torrent
of mistimed mirth, he sang his song triumphantly to the end; and the
clapping of hands, stamping of feet, and knocking of benches, were truly
deafening.
"What will you have now?" cried he. "I thought you would comprehend good
singing at last."
"Give them a comic song," said I, in a whisper.
"A comic song! (aloud) Do you think that I would waste my talents
in singing trash that any jackass could bray? No, sirra, my style
is purely _sentimental_. I will give the ladies and gentlemen the
'Ivy Green.'"
He sang this beautiful original song, which is decidedly Russell's best,
much in the same style as the former one, but, getting a little used to
his eccentricities, we contrived to keep our gravity until he came to
the chorus, "Creeping, creeping, creeping," for which he substituted,
"crawling, crawling, crawling," when he was again interrupted by such a
burst of merriment that he was unable to crawl any further.
"Well," said he, rising; "if you won't behave, I will leave the
instrument to Mr. H---, and make one of the audience."
He had scarcely taken his seat, when the farmer from whom I had bought
the butter forced his way up to the piano. Says he, "There's that pail;
it is worth ten cents and a half. You must either pay the money, or
give me back the pail.--(Hitching up his nether garments)--I s'pose
you'll do the thing that's right."
"Oh, certainly, there are twelve and a half cents."
"I hav'nt change," said he, with a knowing look.
"So much the better; keep the difference."
"Then we're square, mister," and he sank back into his place.
"Did he pay you the money?" I heard the wife ask in an anxious tone.
"Yes, yes; more than the old pail was worth by a long chalk. I'd like to
deal with that chap allers."
I now proceeded with the concert. The song of the drowning child saved
by the Newfoundland dog drew down thunders of applause. When the
clamour had a little subsided, a tall man rose from his seat at the
upper end of the room, and, after clearing his throat with several loud
hems, he thus addressed me,--"How do you do, Mr. H---? I am glad,
sir, to make your acquaintance. This is my friend, Mr. Derby," drawing
another tall man conspicuously forward before all the spectators. "He,
tew, is very happy to make your acquaintance. We both want to know if
that dog you have been singing about belongs to you. If so, we should be
glad to buy a pup." He gravely took his seat, amid perfect yells of
applause. It was impossible to be heard in such a riot, and I closed the
adventures of the evening by giving out "'Hail, Columbia,' to be sung by
all present." This _finale_ gave universal satisfaction, and the
voice of my friend the singing master might be heard far above the rest.
I was forced, in common politeness, to invite Mr. Browne to partake of
the oyster supper I had provided for my friends from W---. "Will you
join our party this evening, Mr. Browne?"
"Oh, by all manner of means," said he, rubbing his hands together in a
sort of ecstasy of anticipation; "I knew that you would do the thing
handsome at last. I have not tasted an i'ster since I sang at Niblo's
in New York. But did we not come on famously at the _con-sort?_
Confess, now, that I beat you holler. You sing _pretty_ well, but
you want confidence. You don't give expression enough to your voice.
The applause which followed my first song was tremendous."
"I never heard anything like it, Mr. Browne. I never expect to merit
such marks of public approbation."
"All in good time, my _leetle_ friend," returned he, clapping me
familiarly on the shoulder. "Rome was not built in a day, and you are
a young man--a very young man--and very _small_ for your age. Your voice
will never have the volume and compass of mine. But I smell the i'sters:
let's in, for I'm tarnation hungry."
Gentle reader! you would have thought so to have seen him eat. My
companions looked rather disconcerted at the rapidity with which they
disappeared within his capacious jaws. After satisfying his enormous
appetite, he washed down the oysters with long draughts of porter, until
his brain becoming affected, he swung his huge body back in his chair,
and, placing his feet on the supper-table, began singing in good
earnest,--not one song in particular, but a mixture of all that had
appeared in the most popular Yankee song books for the last ten years.
I wish I could give you a specimen of the sublime and the ridiculous,
thus unceremoniously huddled together. The effect was so irresistible,
when contrasted with the grave exterior of the man; that we laughed
until our side ached at his absurdities. Exhausted by his constant
vociferations, the musician at length dropped from his chair in a
drunken sleep upon the floor, and we carried him into the next room and
put him to bed; and, after talking over the events of the evening, we
retired about midnight to our respective chambers, which all opened into
the great room in which I held the concert.
About two o'clock in the morning my sleep was disturbed by the most
dismal cries and groans, which appeared to issue from the adjoining
apartment. I rubbed my eyes, and sat up in the bed and listened, when I
recognized the well-known voice of the singing master, exclaiming in
tones of agony and fear--"Landlord! landlord! cum quick. Somebody cum.
Landlord! landlord! there's a man under my bed. Oh, Lord! I shall be
murdered! a man under my bed!"
As I am not fond of such nocturnal visitors myself, not being much
gifted with physical strength or courage, I listened a moment to hear if
any one was coming. The sound of approaching footsteps along the passage
greatly aided the desperate effort I made to leave my comfortable
pillow, and proceed to the scene of action. At the chamber door I met
the landlord, armed with the fire-tongs and a light.
"What's all this noise about?" he cried in an angry tone.
I assured him that I was as ignorant as himself of the cause of the
disturbance. Here the singing master again sung out--
"Landlord! landlord! there's a _man_ under the _bed_. Cum! somebody cum!"
We immediately entered his room, and were joined by two of my friends
from W---. Seeing our party strengthened to four, our courage rose
amazingly, and we talked loudly of making mincemeat of the intruder,
kicking him down stairs, and torturing him in every way we could devise.
We found the singing master sitting bolt upright in his bed, his
small-clothes gathered up under his arm ready for a start; his face
as pale as a sheet, his teeth chattering, and his whole appearance
indicative of the most abject fear. We certainly did hear very
mysterious sounds issuing from beneath the bed, which caused the boldest
of us to draw back.
"He is right," said Roberts; "there is some one under the bed."
"What a set of confounded cowards you are!" cried the landlord; "can't
you lift the valance and see what it is?"
He made no effort himself to ascertain the cause of the alarm. Roberts,
who, after all, was the boldest man of the party, seized the tongs from
the landlord, and, kneeling cautiously down, slowly raised the drapery
that surrounded the bed. "Hold the light here, landlord." He did so,
but at arm's length. Roberts peeped timidly into the dark void beyond,
dropped the valance, and looked up with a comical, quizzing expression,
and began to laugh.
"What is it?" we all cried in a breath.
"Landlord! landlord!" he cried, imitating the voice of the singing
master, "cum quick! Somebody cum! There's a dog under the bed! He will
bite me! Oh, dear! oh, dear! I shall die of hydrophobia. I shall be
smothered in a feather-bed!"
"A dog!" said the landlord.
"A dog!" cried we all.
"Aye, a black dog."
"You don't say!" cried the singing master, springing from his bed.
"Where is he? I'm able for _him_ any how." And seizing a corn broom that
stood in a corner of the room, he began to poke at the poor animal, and
belabour him in the most unmerciful manner.
The dog, who belonged to a drover who penned his cattle in the inn-yard
for the night, wishing to find a comfortable domicile, had taken a
private survey of the premises when the people were out of the way, and
made his quarters under Mr. Browne's bed. When that worthy commenced
snoring, the dog, to signify his approbation at finding himself in the
company of some one, amused himself by hoisting his tail up and down;
now striking the sacking of the bed, and now tapping audibly against the
floor. These mysterious salutations became, at length, so frequent and
vehement that they awoke the sleeper, who, not daring to ascertain the
cause of the alarm, aroused the whole house with his clamours.
Mr. Browne finding himself unable to thrash the poor brute out of his
retreat, and having become all of a sudden very brave, crawled under the
bed and dragged the dog out by his hind legs.
"You see I'm enough for him; give me the poker, and I'll beat out his
brains."
"You'll do no such thing, sir," said the landlord, turning the animal
down the stairs. "The dog belongs to a quiet decent fellow, and a good
customer, and he shall meet with no ill usage here. Your mountain, Mr.
Browne, has brought forth a mouse."
"A dog sir," quoth the singing master, not in the least abashed by the
reproof. "If the brute had cut up such a dido under your bed, you would
have been as 'turnal sceared as I was."
"Perhaps, Mr. Browne," said I, "you took it for the ghost of the old
mare?"
"Ghost or no ghost," returned the landlord, "he has given us a great
deal of trouble, and nearly frightened himself into fits."
"The fear was not all on my side," said the indignant vocalist; "and I
look upon you as the cause of the whole trouble."
"As how?"
"If the dog had not cum to your house, he never would have found his way
under my bed. When I pay for my night's lodging, I don't expect to have
to share it with a strange dog--no how."
So saying he retreated, grumbling, back to his bed, and we gladly
followed his example.
I rose early in the morning to accompany my friends to W---. At the
door of the hotel I was accosted by Mr. Browne--
"Why, you arn't goin' to start without bidding me good-bye? Besides, you
have not paid me for my assistance at the _con-sort_."
I literally started with surprise at this unexpected demand. "Do you
expect a professional price for your services?"
"Well, I guess the _con-sort_ would have been nothing without my help; but
I won't be hard upon you, as you are a young beginner, and not likely to
make your fortune in that line any how. There's that pail of butter; if
you don't mean to take it along, I'll take that; we wants butter to hum.
Is it a bargain?"
"Oh, yes; if you are satisfied, I am well pleased." (I could have added,
to get rid of you at any price.) "You will find it on the table in the
hall."
"Not exactly; I took it hum this morning--I thought how it would end.
Good-bye to you, Mr. H---. If ever you come this way again, I shall be
happy to lend you my assistance."
I never visited that part of the countryside since, but I have no doubt
that Mr. Browne is busy in his vocation, and flattering himself that he
is one of the first vocalists in the Union. I think he should change his
residence, and settle down for life in _New Harmony_.
To Adelaide,[1]
A Beautiful Young Canadian Lady.
"Yes, thou art young, and passing fair;
But time, that bids all blossoms fade,
Will rob thee of the rich and rare;
Then list to me, sweet Adelaide.
He steals the snow from polish'd brow,
From soft bewitching eyes the blue,
From smiling lips their ruby glow,
From velvet cheeks their rosy hue.
"Oh, who shall check the spoiler's power?--
'Tis more than conquering love may dare;
He flutters round youth's summer bower,
And reigns o'er hearts like summer fair.
He basks himself in sunny eyes,
Hides 'mid bright locks, and dimpled smiles;
From age he spreads his wings and flies,--
Forgets soft vows, and pretty wiles.
"The charms of mind are ever young,
Their beauty never owns decay;
The fairest form by poet sung,
Before their power must fade away.
The mind immortal wins from time
Fresh beauties as its years advance;
Its flowers bloom fresh in every clime--
They cannot yield to change and chance.
"E'en over love's capricious boy
They hold an undiminish'd sway;
For chill and storm can ne'er destroy
The blossoms of eternal day.
Then deem these charms, sweet Adelaide,
The brightest gems in beauty's zone:
Make these thine own,--all others fade;
They live when youth and grace are flown."
[1] The daughter of Colonel Coleman, of Belleville; now Mrs. Easton.